


Louder Than Words

by Heronfem



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Arranged Marriage, Cullrian Mini-Bang 2015, Developing Relationship, Gift Giving, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-25
Updated: 2016-04-25
Packaged: 2018-06-04 10:15:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6653863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heronfem/pseuds/Heronfem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In order to secure ties with the Inquisition, the Archon offers up one Dorian Pavus to be married to the Inquisition's Commander.  This would be just fine with Dorian... if he spoke the language of the land he was moving to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Louder Than Words

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Polski available: [Głośniej od słów](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13467024) by [Regalia1992](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Regalia1992/pseuds/Regalia1992)



> Initially posted here: http://fyeahcullrian.tumblr.com/post/129485781783/title-louder-than-words-cullrian-mini-bang
> 
> Minor edits have been made. Art is by the fantastic hollythepixie.tumblr.com, who was my partner for the mini-bang.

Dorian stayed still and silent as Aquinea carefully adjusted his collar. He felt heavy and light all at once, the thick black robe weighing him down, but his body hollow inside. His mother paused, resting a shaking hand on his cheek. He tried to force a smile, and she blinked back tears, stepping in to kiss his forehead.

 

“My sweet child,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

 

“I know,” he said, tugging his gloves so they sat better. His rings had been removed, as well as all his piercings but his lobes. Even those had been switched to plain gold studs. He could barely stomach looking at himself in the mirror. The mustache was gone as well, his face clean shaven, and he’d only been allowed the thinnest line of kohl on his eyes. He stared blankly at the mirror, as if it were some stranger in the over sized black robe with its trailing train and tiny gold detailing on the collar and bell sleeves. The gloves, hooked over his middle finger and long to the elbow, made it so the only skin he showed were his fingers and face.

 

He looked like a man in mourning, not one preparing for a wedding. Had this been a wedding of his choice, he would have been in blinding white, covered in crystals and silver embroidery, laughing as he prepared. But now, in this cold, dark castle, he would wear black to be wed.

 

Halward entered the room, looking ages older than he had a mere month ago. Dorian spared him a glance before looking away. They weren’t speaking.

 

“It’s time,” he said heavily, and Aquinea swallowed hard, lifting her head.

 

“Dorian.”

 

He turned automatically, and she walked over to gently touch his cheek. “This may be the last time I can give you any advice,” she said, her voice shaking a little. “So here it is. Learn to be content. Do not hope for happiness. If happiness comes, all the better, but until then, find contentment in your marriage. It will not be perfect, such things never are.”

 

“Yes, mother,” he said quietly, and she blinked back tears.

 

He took her arm, and together the Pavus family headed for the Great Hall.

 

Archon Radonis was waiting at the stairs, a vision in ivory and gold. Unlike Dorian, he wore plenty of jewelry, a gleaming hoop in his nose connecting to his ear, and a septum glinting in the torchlight. “Smile,” he said dryly as he saw Dorian. “Your husband is at least handsome.”

 

“Thank you for your kindness, Archon,” Dorian said, putting on his best court smile. Radonis nodded, pleased.

 

“He’s Fereldan,” he said, taking Dorian’s arm as Aquinea fell back. A shadow stepped from the wall, a man in robes similar to Dorian’s detaching to follow them. He was deathly pale, his head shaved and decorated with inky black tattoos of verses of the Chant. Urian Nihalius, the Black Divine, was an unnerving man, and Dorian’s skin crawled to be so close to him. Radonis continued, ignoring his other half. “Perhaps a little shorter than you. A military man, it seems. I couldn’t get the whole story from the servant I spoke with, as she was in a rush.”

 

“I appreciate the knowledge, Archon,” Dorian said, keeping his polite smile in place. Radonis turned them, and they stood in front of a door. He could hear people beyond, chattering quietly among themselves, and terror gripped his stomach. Radonis stepped back, and Aquinea and Halward took their place behind Dorian, Urian and Radonis behind them. It was a unique procession, a loud declaration of how badly Radonis wanted this to work for him to have come in person. For the Black Divine to attend as well was quite a statement.

 

The door creaked open, and an Antivan woman poked her head through. She said something in Trade, and Halward answered in kind.

 

“When you hear the music, begin,” Aquinea told him quietly, and Dorian nodded. This seemed to satisfy the Antivan, and after a moment, the music started. She opened the door properly, and Dorian swept out, keeping his smile in place. Across the way, a man walked from a door opposite him. He was dressed in rather hideous clothes, armed, his sword at his waist. Dorian hadn’t even been permitted his staff. There was some horrendous furry ruff around his neck, and Dorian tried not to feel too terrified when they met in the center and he took the arm offered to him. The man had a scar on his _face_.

 

The retinue behind his soon to be husband consisted of a motley crew. There was a tall woman, also carrying a sword, accompanied the Champion of Kirkwall, a woman, recognizable by the red stripe on her nose. A man with a crown who looked a little upset, blonde and handsome in his own way, was behind them in the place Radonis took. A hard faced woman with red hair, hooded, was somber as she held the crowned man’s arm. They made their way up to the dais, where both the Revered Father and Revered Mother stood, the crowds of people watching them silently as they approached. Dorian was a little surprised to feel his partner’s arm shaking. Was he actually as terrified as Dorian was?

 

They stopped before the pair, and Dorian shrank under the gaze of the Revered Mother. She seemed disgusted. The man squeezed his hand, oddly reassuring, and let it drop. The music ended.

 

The Revered Mother went first, and Dorian did his best to look serene and interested despite having absolutely no idea what she was saying. He could tell her accent was vaguely Orlesian, but that was the sum of his understanding. The man he was marrying seemed to be listening intently, however, and Dorian’s heart sank. Was he marrying someone devout? How devout? Was he to be locked in a chaste marriage for the rest of his life?

 

The Revered Mother finished, and the Revered Father cleared his throat. He was an elderly man, with a soft smile and kind eyes, and Dorian looked to him with slight desperation.

 

“Do not fear, my son,” the Revered Father said gently. “I know you are far from home and afraid, but there are good people here, kind people, who would see you flourish despite the world around you.”

 

Dorian swallowed hard past the lump in his throat. It was the first kind thing anyone had said to him since he set foot in Skyhold.

 

“As with all marriages, I have advice. Remember that you are not just one person, you are a piece of a whole. You have become a piece of a puzzle far greater than us all, brought from the warmth of your home to the ice of the mountains. Do not let it make you hard. Keep your heart and your hands soft. There is nothing to be gained from violence against those you love, and a great deal to lose. Learn to be understanding of your husband. Do what you must to keep him happy, and do what you must to serve and protect him.” The man’s voice hardened a little. “You will face cruel people, who will say because you are a mage, you have taken advantage. Do not listen to them. Know who you are, know your place, and do your best within it.”

 

Dorian nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

 

The Revered Father nodded, and Dorian turned to face his soon to be husband. The man held out his arm, and Dorian clasped it. The Revered Mother tied some sort of complex knot in red rope around them both and said a few words, and the Revered Father said, “Have you chosen what piece of the Chant to use for your vows?”

 

Dorian looked directly at his husband, and said, “Let the blade pass through the flesh, let my blood touch the ground, let my cries touch their hearts. Let mine be the last sacrifice.”

 

The Revered Father went pale, but nodded to the Revered Mother.

 

The words were different when the man spoke it, but he knew the verse from its cadence. _Oh Maker, hear my cry: Guide me through the blackest nights, steel my heart against the temptations of the wicked, make me to rest in the warmest places._

 

What a pair they would make.

 

oOo

 

Cullen smiled politely as he accepted the well wishes of the throngs of people. His new husband was silent beside him, smiling, but his face was heavily lined with exhaustion and no small amount of pain. He'd managed to keep up the false front for quite some time, but it was clearly starting to get to him.

 

Alistair gently nudged him, and Cullen leaned over so they could speak. “Your man's dead on his feet,” Alistair said quietly. “Go sit him down before he falls over under the strain. Josephine's office, maybe. Or the War Room.”

 

Cullen nodded, and turned back to Dorian. “Dorian?” He asked quietly, and the man startled, looking over to him as if her were surprised Cullen knew his name. “Do you want to rest?”

 

There was a flash of uncertainty, and Dorian nodded carefully, searching his face like he expected to be reprimanded. He smiled reassuringly, and Dorian smiled nervously back. He quietly made their excuses to a pair of Nevarran Chantry sisters, and led Dorian through the crowd to a side door.

 

The little hallway between Josephine's office and the War Room was blissfully, blessedly quiet, and Cullen sank down against the wall with a sigh of relief. After a moments hesitation, Dorian followed suit, sitting next to him and primly tucking his robe under his legs. He was quite beautiful, though he seemed to be drowning in all the heavy black he wore.

 

“Finally,” he sighed, resting his head against the wall. “I thought that circus would never stop.”

 

Dorian shifted a little, cocking his head. Cullen looked at him, curious. Dorian bit his lip, eyes narrowing.

 

“Name?” He hazarded. Cullen blinked.

 

“What?”

 

“Name?” Dorian pointed to him, and Cullen's heart stopped.

 

“Oh, Maker preserve us,” he breathed. “Dorian, do you speak Trade?”

 

Dorian looked at him, uncertain, and he scrambled to his feet. Dorian made to follow and he shook his head, motioning for him to stay put. “No, no, stay here. I'll- I'll be back.”

 

Dorian sat back, a little baffled, but did as he'd indicated. Cullen headed back into the ballroom, and after a quick glace around found the Chargers comfortably installed in a corner with Bull chatting to Harritt. He made a bee line to them, grabbing Krem's shoulder. While the two didn't know each other particularly well, they got along well enough.

 

“Ah, here he is, the man of the hour,” Krem started, but stopped when he saw the panic on Cullen's face. “Hey, you're not looking so good. What's wrong?”

 

“You speak Tevene, don't you?” Cullen asked desperately, and Krem nodded, eyes searching his face.

 

“It's been years, but yes.”

 

“Then please, come with me.”

 

oOo

 

Dorian was counting stones on the floor when the door opened again and his husband (husband!) came back through with a very Tevene man in tow. His husband was speaking low and fast, his tone urgent and concerned. The Tevene man nodded, walking over to crouch in front of him.

 

“Cullen tells me the strangest thing,” he said, his accent as heavy as a Vyrantium fishwife. What was a Cullen? Was that a rank or a name? “He says you don't speak Trade, Altus.”

 

“That would be because I don't,” Dorian said, a little nervous. He looked from the man to his husband and back again. “I'm sorry, did I offend him? Or cause him shame? I wasn't told much about how ceremonies work here.”

 

“Kaffas,” the man swore. He turned to Dorian's husband, speaking in fast, angry Trade. Dorian couldn't catch any of it, and stared as his husband sat heavily down, blood draining from his face. He reached out, concerned, and the man flinched. He withdrew his hand quickly, a little stung. Then again, the man smelled faintly of lyrium. A former Templar, perhaps.

 

“I'm sorry,” he said helplessly. “I didn't mean to upset anyone.”

 

The Tevene man sighed, sitting down properly. “My name is Krem. Cremisius Aclassi, actually, but I go by Krem. Do you even know his name?”

 

“No,” Dorian said. “I asked, or I thought I did, but he got upset and went to get you.”

 

“His name is Cullen Rutherford. His title is “Commander” and you have just made life very difficult for me.” Krem sighed again. “Do you speak anything other than Tevene?”

 

“I can speak a little Orlesian, and I'm fluent in Nevarran.”

 

“Of course.” Krem ran a hand through his hair. “What Trade do you know?”

 

“Thank you, you're welcome, I apologize, and some scattered words,” Dorian said, looking over at Cullen, who wasn't looking much better. “Have I upset him?”

 

“He's just worried you didn't consent to this. Did you know what was happening, or were you tricked into this?”

 

Dorian fiddled with a bit of rock from the floor. “I knew. The Archon was angry at my father for- for not fixing me when I was younger. So he decided that it would be a suitable punishment to marry me into the Inquisition. Our line is now dead, since I won't have any children, and I can't cause any more trouble in Tevinter. My father will likely be forced to retire.”

 

“What kind of trouble?”

 

“Drinking, fighting, having sex with the sons of Magisters... that sort of thing.” Dorian made a tiny static cage around the rock, tossing it back and forth within the little electric bars. “I expect that when he takes a mistress, I'll either find one myself or just devote myself to research, if books are even a thing here in the South. I'd prefer not to be caged like some pretty song bird. Would he let me travel? Or am I to stay here, leashed and bound?”

 

“Festus bei umo canaverum,” Krem said, his palm hitting the floor. “Cullen is _not_ the mistress taking type, and he probably wouldn't be too thrilled if you took one. You're now married to the most powerful man in the Inquisition, you're going to be dragged everywhere he goes. You're going to hate traveling by the end of it.”

 

Cullen interrupted, his voice tight and worried. Krem waved him off, his voice calm as he explained.

 

“So,” he said, switching back to Tevene. “How are you with languages?”

 

oOo

 

If not for the fact that Dorian was pathetically grateful, it would be almost insulting at how small of a room the Inquisition shuffled him into. He had very little, just some books and trunks of clothes that had been hastily packed, and a small, delicate dragon statue that Felix had given him. Cullen had straight up refused to sleep with him until he could speak Trade moderately well, and Dorian wasn't sure if he was pleased by that or annoyed. Shouldn't they make it official? And what did Cullen care, they were married now after all.

 

His staff, a masterwork of beautiful ebony capped in brass and skulls, sat in the corner. He stared at it from the rickety chair he'd thrown himself in, wondering if he'd even really get a chance to use it ever again. He'd hoped, somewhat foolishly, that he would be allowed to marry a mage as well. Cullen surely wouldn't want a mage armed and running about in his rooms. What was he even to _do_ here? He would be half mad with boredom before the month was out.

 

There was a sharp knock on the door, and before he could even stand Krem walked in.

 

“Alright, here's what's going to happen,” he said bluntly. “You will be up by 10 every morning save the weekends, and join either me or Cassandra Pentaghast in the library for language lessons, depending on who's available. She speaks Nevarran, I speak Tevene, we'll figure out. After a break for lunch, you'll be attending weapons practice with Commander Cullen's men, where you'll be evaluated on how you can best serve in the Inquisition. Right now, you may be helping to teach some of the littler mages, if you've the aptitude. After that, Sister Andromeda of the Nevarran Chantry will give you lessons on Southern Culture and etiquette, or Madame de Fer will, in Orlesian. _If_ everything goes well this first week, you'll be passable in Trade. In the evenings, the Commander would like to try to spend time with you.” He exhaled, rubbing his forehead. “Got all that?”

 

“Weapons practice?” Dorian said hopefully.

 

“Yes. Everyone in the Inquisition is required to have at least basic combat training. Have you been trained?”

 

Dorian scoffed, relief making him shaky. “Of course. I'm an Altus, I was trained in everything from dueling to poison.” He lifted the glass on the table beside him, trying to ignore how shaky his hand was. Krem caught the tremors, and frowned.

 

“Look,” he said after a moment. “You don't seem too bad, for an Altus. Cullen's just as scared as you are. Try to get to know him. Who knows, you might even end up as friends.”

 

With that, he left, the door shutting tight behind him.

 

oOo

 

“He doesn't even speak our language,” Cullen said, pacing around his office as Cassandra watched, patient as ever. Since Dorian's things had been pulled from his room (a pitiful, sad pile of three trunks and a staff) he had been near incoherent with worry.

 

“He will learn. He speaks Nevarran, Lieutenant Aclassi and I can translate when we are around,” Cassandra said, sitting down primly at his desk. She was still in her finery from the wedding, a rich red velvet doublet and creamy white shirt, dark pants and boots finishing it off with a chain of office over her neck. She was, in a word, beautiful. It made Cullen nervous, seeing her out of her armor.

 

He tugged at his hair, fussing with it until it no longer felt quite so unruly. “Cassandra, I don't know if I can do this.”

 

“It is too late for such worries now, Cullen. You are a married man.”

 

Cullen felt a somewhat terrified laugh tear from his throat, and sat down hard on the other free chair, burying his face in his hands. “Maker preserve me.”

 

Cassandra sighed, sounding as though her patience was coming to an end. “You agreed to this, Cullen. Leliana and I would not have been acceptable, Josephine is betrothed, the Inquisitor can hardly be married, and the rest were not amenable. This Dorian Pavus seems to be grateful to get away for Tevinter, for all he looked as a widow in mourning at the ceremony. I feel he may not have been well liked in his home. His parents, well. They were quite the pair. The father seemed particularly nasty.”

 

“I got that feeling as well,” he said heavily, hands dropping onto the arms of the chair. “I hope we can at least learn to like each other.”

 

“We must always hope,” Cassandra said, a little sad. “It is... it is a shame, that you did not get the happy ending you hoped for.”

 

“Yes,” he said heavily. “But this will have to be enough.”

 

oOo

 

“Commander,” Solas said dryly, “you are not what anyone would call inconspicuous.”

 

Cullen nearly dropped the book he was holding, jumping as it was. Solas arched an eyebrow at him as he blushed, adjusting his grip on the tome of- he checked the title- _The Complex Regulatory Systems of Elfroot and Its Uses as an Herb._ Across from the little alcove he was in, Dorian was sitting in gorgeous blue robes, glaring a paper into submission as Krem ran over basic sentence structure with him. Cullen was _not_ subtle, but damn, he was going to try.

 

“I just... I wanted to see him,” he said awkwardly, and Solas actually smiled.

 

“May I suggest going to sit by them, then? We are all fully aware that you have no interest in elfroot.”

 

He looked down at the book, feeling his face get even hotter. “I... yes. I'm sorry.”

 

“No need to apologize, Commander,” Solas said breezily, and walked away. Cullen replaced the book on the shelf, straightened his shirt, and went over to the pair of them.

 

Krem nodded as he approached, and Dorian looked up. He almost winced at the flash of fear and anxiety he saw, but he made himself smile as reassuringly as possible. Krem stared.

 

“Are you alright, Commander? You look like you just stepped on something painful.”

 

Ah. Well then. That was one plan gone.

 

“I just wanted to say hello,” he said helplessly, doing his best not to blush as Dorian arched an interested eyebrow at him. He was really quite beautiful, especially up close, and Cullen had always been such a mess around beautiful mages. Granted, Surana had been nothing in comparison to Dorian's beauty, but she had been beautiful in her own way.

 

Krem took pity on him, and merely nodded. Cullen hesitated, then reached out his hand to Dorian. He took it, looking confused, and went a bright, beautiful dusky shade darker when Cullen bent to kiss the back of his hand.

 

“Good morning, husband,” Cullen said with a real smile, and from the slowly spreading smile on Dorian's face, he'd understood.

 

oOo

 

“He _kissed_ me,” Dorian said when Cullen had left, looking utterly pleased with himself. “In public! In a library! In front of you!”

 

“That's right.” Krem leaned back in his chair, grinning. “So, what did he say?”

 

“Good morning, husband,” Dorian repeated, almost vibrating in his seat. “He called me husband! In public!”

 

Krem chuckled, shaking his head. “You're not going to be much good for the rest of the time we've got. Want to go take a walk? I can tell you what things are and test you on them tomorrow. The names of rooms, or objects.”

 

Dorian shot to his feet, excited, and Krem laughed as he followed him out of the library.

 

oOo

 

Dorian met the Chargers over lunch, which was a bit nerve wracking, but The Iron Bull just laughed and clapped him on the shoulder with a hand so massive it could have spanned his head. The names were unfamiliar to his tongue, but he wrangled them around until he could pronounce them mostly correct. “Iron” was a bit difficult, as was “Skinner”. He bemoaned the lack of familiar spices, was fascinated by the deep, flavorful stew for lunch with its hearty meats and vegetables, and had something called “maraas-lok” in a thimble that was incredibly strong.

 

Now more armed with the names of places, he managed to stop someone and ask for directions to his room. The woman, a dwarf scout with a friendly face and bright freckles, cheerfully pointed him the right way, and he changed into his practice gear before heading down to the training area. He was a bit nervous carrying his staff openly, but the pair of Templars that passed him just nodded and kept walking. Emerging out into the sun, he hurried down to the field, where a tall, dark haired woman was waiting by the fence.

 

“Good afternoon,” she said in Trade as he hesitantly approached.

 

Bowing politely, he replied, “Good afternoon,” and was pleased when he didn't mangle it too badly. The woman nodded brusquely, and switched to Nevarran.

 

“ _Welcome to training. Madame de Fer will be testing with you this afternoon._ ” She pointed to a tall woman who was dressed in exquisite Orlesian fashion. The woman carried a very impressive, beautiful staff with a gorgeous ball on the end. “ _She is the Grand Enchanter of the Court of Orlais. How is your Orlesian?”_

 

“ _Embarrassing,”_ he admitted in Nevarran. “ _I barely muddle through.”_

 

Cassandra made a noise that sounded vaguely disappointed. “ _There is nothing we can do about that for the immediate moment. I will simply have to translate._ ”

 

They were about to walk over when a warm hand gently rested on his shoulder. Dorian started, looking back to see Cullen there, smiling.

 

“Hello,” he said, smiling despite himself, and Cullen brightened. “Good afternoon.”

 

“Good afternoon,” Cullen agreed, and squeezed his shoulder. “Good fortune.”

 

“Thank you,” he said, and before he could talk himself out of it, leaned over to kiss Cullen's cheek. The man went brilliantly red, and ducked his head to hide his smile. Cassandra rolled her eyes, and dragged him over to Madame de Fer as Cullen was swarmed by excited recruits.

 

The fight with Madame de Fer wasn't particularly long, but it was rough. Dorian had been a Senior Enchanter in the Vyrantium circle, and he was not about to be outdone by some upstart Southerner who front loaded her barriers. They ended equally matched in points, and as the barriers fell it was to the sound of whooping cheers. Madame de Fer was smiling, respect on her face, and Dorian looked around in confusion at all the people who'd been watching and seemed pleased by his performance.

 

“ _I don't understand;”_ he said in Orlesian, and Madame de Fer laughed.

 

“ _We put on quite the show, darling. Well done._ ”

 

oOo

 

Sister Andromeda was pleasant enough, a kind young woman with bright eyes and a happy smile, and they walked quite a bit of the building as she told him about the different countries and told him what even more things were called. He learned more about Southern trees than he ever needed to know, and they stopped in at the Undercroft to talk to someone called “Arcanist Dagna”, who was a very tiny dwarf with a bright smile. He left with a new ring, a pair of earrings enchanted to sparkle beautifully, and a ring for his nose piercing with a delicate, tiny piece of paragon's luster gleaming as a bead on it.

 

And then came dinner.

 

The garden was a quiet place, away from the crowded noise of Skyhold itself, and Dorian couldn't help but smile when he saw that a dinner had been laid out on a travel table in the gazebo. Cullen was waiting there, fussing with the settings, and as Dorian approached he straightened. The nervous smile was back, but that was to be expected, after all. Dorian walked up the short steps, and stopped before him, smiling.

 

“Hello,” he said warmly, and Cullen's smile relaxed into something real.

 

“Good evening. Dinner?”

 

“Please.”

 

They sat, and Dorian could have cried with joy at the sight of curry, _real_ curry. It seemed the South wasn't impossible after all. They dug in, quiet, and he basked in Cullen's presence. No one had yelled at him as of yet, no one had tried to hurt him for being with a man. On impulse, he reached out, and Cullen looked up in surprise. Without hesitating, he took his hand, and Dorian swallowed down the lump in his throat. His eyes seemed to be stinging a bit- damn his allergies.

 

“Thank you,” he said when he had himself back under control. “Thank you.”

 

Cullen bent down, kissing his hand, and Dorian had to lower his head to keep his expression and tears in check.

 

oOo

 

Life at Skyhold fell into a comfortable routine for its most recent power couple. Dorian spent his days in the familiar cycle of lessons, weapons training, more lessons, and dinner with Cullen, occasionally broken up by trips with the Chargers or Cassandra to places in the surrounding mountains to either learn new words or work on his skills without having to worry about squishing all the littler mages who were trying to see just how good the 'Vint was.

 

It worried Cullen some, to see Dorian both struggling to find his place in Skyhold and struggling to keep something that was clearly so important to him reined in. He watched from above about three weeks into their marriage, such as it was, as Dorian and Vivienne sparred. Cassandra's familiar steps reached him on the battlements, and he straightened, turning to her. She waved him back, and they both settled against the stone. Dorian, it seemed, was winning.

 

“You like him a great deal,” Cassandra said as the silence stretched. “You are serious about this.”

 

“I can't say I thought I would find love after I was married, but I can't complain,” Cullen said with a shrug, and she looked up sharply.

 

“Love?”

 

“I'm learning to love him,” Cullen said simply. “The little things that make up the man I married. It's better to be happy with what you have than long for what you don't. And maybe, at some point, I dreamed of having a wife and children, little cottage in some pleasant village, but that's not who I am. Who I am, apparently, is a worn down Kirkwall survivor with a Tevene husband that looks at me like I've hung the moon whenever I hug him, or kiss even his hand. And that's well worth keeping. I want... I want to show him that I appreciate him. Make some sweet gesture, let him know he's loved, or at least cared for.” He looked at Cassandra properly. “You know about romance. What should I gift him?”

 

oOo

 

Dorian looked blankly at the ladder, then up at Cullen, who was looking down through the opening with an encouraging smile.

 

“You live here?” he demanded, starting to climb, and Cullen laughed, getting out of his way. Dorian reached the top and let Cullen help him in, and looked around in interest. It was a nice room, save for the giant, gaping hole in the ceiling. A weapons rack and armor stand took up one corner, a long dresser sat against the wall, and cubby shelves had been set against the wall. Those looked newer. A little writing desk and two chairs rounded out the room, a chess set on the table.

 

Dorian pointed to the hole in the ceiling, askance. “Fix this,” he demanded, and Cullen laughed, nodding.

 

“I will.” He sat down on the bed, smiling up at Dorian. “This will be ours. When you are ready.”

 

Dorian paused, startled. “Ours?”

 

“Ours,” Cullen confirmed. He reached out, and Dorian took his hand without thinking. While Dorian was still reeling from the change in culture, particularly the fact that he was _openly married to a man_ , Cullen had been doing his best to make him more comfortable with little touches in public. Hand holding was almost old hat at this point. “I want you to be comfortable here. And happy.”

 

Dorian smiled, heart squeezing, and he sat down on the bed close to Cullen, leaning into his shoulder. “You are so good to me.”

 

Cullen leaned their heads together, and said, “I hope to be even better.”

 

oOo

 

The garden was the only truly warm place in the entirety of Skyhold, and three weeks later Dorian was comfortably installed in the gazebo with a blanket and a pile of books when he heard familiar footsteps on the path. Looking up, he smiled fondly as Cullen walked over, his hands behind his back. His husband was beautiful, and they had spent quite a bit of time together at this point, trinkets that Dorian had picked up finding their way to Cullen's room. The roof had been fixed, and they played chess long into the evening while working on each others languages. Cullen, in a fit of determination, had decided that if Dorian had to learn Trade, he would learn Tevene. It was very sweet.

 

“Hello, husband,” Dorian said warmly, and Cullen's smile broadened as he stepped into Dorian's space. Dorian rose, and brightened when Cullen leaned in to peck him on the cheek. He'd been hoping that Cullen would be more open to him, and it seemed like it had worked. They were growing closer daily.

 

“I have a gift for you,” he said, and Dorian's eyebrows rose.

 

“A gift?”

 

Cullen took his hands from behind his back, and Dorian stared at the orchid before him. It was in a simple pot, plain terra cotta, and the blooms were opened to a rich, warm purple. He took it carefully, gently stroking the leaves, and looked up to Cullen with wide eyes.

 

“This is very expensive,” he said carefully, his tongue nearly stumbling over the still difficult words. It was near impossible to get live flowers from the Imperium in the South, he had learned from Krem. Plants often withered and died, or weren't treated well enough to survive the journey. He couldn't even imagine how much money Cullen would have had to spend on a royal purple orchid in this condition.

 

Cullen stepped in, smiling as he cupped his hand around the back of Dorian's neck. “ _I know,_ ” he said in clumsy Tevene. “ _You are my husband, and worth much._ ”

 

Dorian blinked, swallowing the lump in his throat as he looked down at the orchid in his hands. “Thank you,” he managed, and looked back up, smiling. “I will keep it alive. Like this. Like us, this-” he struggled for the word. “Relationship.”

 

Cullen's smile widened, and Dorian leaned in, kissing him slow and sweet as the sunshine spilled through the sides of the gazebo, lighting everything in warm, soft gold.

oOo

oOo

 

That evening, Cullen climbed up into his room to find Dorian already there, installed on the bed and looking more than a little nervous. He was also rather under dressed for his normal fashion, only wearing a comfortable, dark blue linen shirt and black pants that left very little to the imagination. He was even plain on jewelry, just his wedding ring and thumb rings on (and those, Cullen knew, were spelled for warning against assassins). He paused, looking around, and saw Dorian's staff in the weapons rack, his clothes hung in the armoire or folded on the shelves that Cullen had made just for that sort of thing, and on Cullen's little writing desk, the purple orchid. Slowly, he felt a smile start on his face.

 

“You moved,” he said, indicating the room, and Dorian's cheeks flushed darkly.

 

“I did,” he agreed, sounding a little nervous. “I can move back, if you need?”

 

Cullen shook his head, going to the armor stand and shrugging off his coat. He jolted a little when clever fingers smoothed over his shoulders, Dorian at his back,. He let Dorian neatly take him out of his gear, carefully setting it on the stand in the correct order, and by the time he was down to his shirtsleeves and pants, his heart was a little swollen with fondness.

 

Dorian stepped back, smiling, and Cullen said, “We've never really kissed, you and I.”

 

Dorian looked up through his lashes, smiling. “We have not,” he agreed. “Should we?”

 

“Would you like to?” Cullen countered, and Dorian's smile brightened. Cullen reached out, pulling him in, and Dorian wrapped his arms over his shoulders to pull him in for a slow, soft kiss. As first kisses went (or, at least _real_ first kisses went), it was one for the books. They were both pleasantly flushed when they broke away, heads pressed together.

 

Dorian smiled, his eyes bright with warmth. “Well? Welcome me home, husband-mine.”

 

Cullen laughed, wrapping his arms around Dorian's waist to make him squeak and laugh. “Welcome home, husband-dear. Welcome home.”

 


End file.
